


I don't wanna be you anymore

by Loki_Slytherin



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Based on a Billie Eilish Song, District 13 (Hunger Games), Drabble, Finnick Odair-centric, Forced Prostitution, Help, I Don't Even Know, Implied Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, Multi, Not Beta Read, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sad, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29979537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Slytherin/pseuds/Loki_Slytherin
Summary: Drabble about Finnick coming to the decision to do the propoganda shoots for the rebels.Based off of Billie Eilish song idontwannabeyouanymore
Relationships: Finnick Odair & Other(s)
Kudos: 11





	I don't wanna be you anymore

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be in math class but it's dull so I wrote this on my phone while I'm on the lesson

"Don't be like that Finnick." Mags had told him when he was 14. "Don't fall apart. Not now. Not today. Not twice a day, not any day. If you fall apart, you won't be able to get back together again."

Finnick knew what she meant. It took far longer to put oneself back together again than it did to fall apart. But sometimes, just occasionally, Finnick felt like it was easier to fall apart. It was too hard to hold it all together. 

Finnick wanted someone to confide in. Someone to talk to. He didn't know how to talk. Mags had always told him that it was easier to show his emotions if he couldn't talk about them, but Finnick wasn't good at that either. It was easier just to sit on the bed, weaving the rope through his fingers till it burnt. 

Perhaps if anyone bothered to look close enough, they'd know Finnick was suffering. If they cared to see, they would. But no one here in 13 knew him that well. Annie and Johanna knew him too well to be fooled by his mask, but they were still in the capitol. 

Finnick reflected angrily that if he could, he'd do anything to be less blue all the time. If he could sell his bone aching, crushing sadness, he would. 

Bodies can be sold, but moods cannot. 

If he bottled up his salty tears, they'd sell for more than his body. Anyone could force a victor to bed them, but to force one to cry was a harder deal. If he could have bottled up his tears of shame and pain, he might have made enough money to convince Snow to stop renting him out.

Finnick wished there was a pool in district thirteen. In the capitol, there had been pool parties frequently. Dressed up and dolled up like a model, shining in make up and water, many people loved to watch Finnick swim. It was the only thing he missed about the capitol. 

He'd overheard Effie telling Haymitch that she was always scared that if she wore a tight dress she'd look like a whore. 

Finnick didn't think that was so bad. Better for people to perceive you as a whore than to actually be one. He'd been called a whore on plenty of occasions, and it no longer had the same hurt. It made him feel sick to the very core, but it didn't make him hurt. 

Finnick didn't want everyone to know what the capitol had made him do, but they all did. They all knew he was a whore. The capitols resident district slut. 

They thought he chose to do it. They thought he willing slept with any man or woman who'd have him. They thought he let the words "I love you" slip through his teeth, the lie as meaningless as his affairs. The people here didn't see that he didn't want it. They didn't see that he wasn't sleeping with them out of love or lust. 

Finnick had had many people tell him they loved him, but none of them meant it. If "I love you" was a promise, none of them would have spoken those words, and he would not have said them back. 

Finnick gazed into the mirror in front of him. Not for the first time, he wished he could be someone else. 

The memories of hands, getting gradually colder, running smoothly over Finnick body made him retch slightly. He felt like he was drowning in the memories of what they'd done. 

He wished he could lose the feeling. He wished the feeling would grow old and fade. He wished that even the recollection of losing the feeling would grow old and disappear. 

Finnick wonders how he got so broken. 

When did he snap? Was it when he made his first kill? When he got reaped? When he lost his virginity to a client? When the tribute he mentored died? 

Maybe he was born broken. Made from a broken mold. Pushed into this world broken. 

Maybe he was broken inside his mother's womb. 

He can't shake away the hurt he feels. God, he wishes he could. He prays, every evening, to Posiedon and Venus, and Njord and Lyr and Neptune, that they might steal away his hurt and pain. They never answer him. 

Every mistake he'd ever made, he regretted. 

The whole world knew how Finnick broke. They knew his shame. They knew what he was. They knew what he'd done. They knew how low he'd sunk. 

Perhaps making the video, the propaganda for the rebels would be therapeutic. 

That was why Finnick allowed himself to stand in front of the cameras, just like he all that time ago when he was reaped, and how he forced his tongue to move. 

He was doing it so they could save Annie. 

He was doing it so they would stop judging him. 

He was doing it to show support for others like him. For all the other "desirable" victors.

He was doing it, so that one day, they could all be free. 

And so Finnick Odair stood in front of the cameras, in front of the Avox and his brother, I'm front of Cressida and her blue hair, in front of Kwtniss and her broken eyes, in front of Coin and her calculatimg gaze, and he began to speak. 

He finally told his story.


End file.
